Nothing
by Fulgance
Summary: Regulus' last letter to Sirius. Done already, but it was just so tempting. 'Always denied, but never forgotten. Always loved, but never acknowledged. I like to think that's how you think of me. I think it is. It's the way I feel about you, Sirius.'


**JK Rowling owns Harry Potter.**

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Regulus' hand trembled as he wrote down the words he hoped would reach his brother. He was afraid, yes, but at that moment he felt braver than any Gryffindor, no, braver than all the Gryffindors combined. At that moment, he knew he shouldn't have been sorted into Slytherin. The Sorting Hat had seen what he was, not what he had the potential to become. He had believed the Hat, had embraced the path it had drawn for him, the path his parents had drawn for him. But now, for the first time ever, he was breaking away from that path.

_Dear Sirius, _he wrote, but he quickly scribbled it out. It sounded too weird._ Dearest brother,_ he tried again, but that seemed too formal. And beside, Sirius was his only brother. And they weren't dear to each other, hadn't been for years now. There was love between them still, but only the thinnest of threads linked them, the thread neither of them had been able to break, no matter how hard they tried. The thread called family. My brother didn't sound natural – he'd never called Sirius 'my brother' to his face. In fact, he'd never called him brother, he realised. Except maybe when they were toddlers. But he didn't think Sirius would like being adressed as 'Brudder'. In the end he settled for 'Sirius'.

Then came another difficult part. What should he say first? 'I'm sorry'? No, he'd never believe that. 'I love you' didn't work either, for much the same reason_. Screw it all_, he thought. His quill touched the parchment again, and this time the words seemed to flow of their own accord.

_Sirius,_

_I hope this letter finds you in good health. No, screw that. I hope it finds you and I hope that, when you recognize old Pearl, you won't turn her away. I don't know why I'm even writing this. I certainly don't expect you to shed tears when news of my death reaches you. I've probably just been driven mad with despair. Or maybe I was always crazy. If that's true, I blame the generations of inbreeding within the Black family. In fact, my death will at least relieve me of our parents' pressuring me to marry a respectable pureblood witch – which, inevitably, means one of our cousins. Merlin, Sirius, can you imagine me being married to Bella? Although I hear she's been betrothed to Rodolphus. Lestrange, you know? No, you wouldn't. He's one of our distant cousins or whatever and he was a Slytherin at school, and we both know you've done everything you can to forget about 'that lot'. Anyway, I wanted to give you a warning so you didn't learn of my passing away through the Daily Prophet – although for all I know you might be glad to hear of it. Maybe you'll even throw a party with your Gryffindor friends. _

_Whatever the reason, the fact remains that I am writing this. And since I am, I figured I might as well apologise. So. There you go. I'm sorry. I really am. I'm sorry for the things I've done, for the things I've said to you, for the people I've killed, for being a coward. But most of all, I'm sorry for betraying you, Sirius. I have a feeling you're not reading this with indifference. But maybe that's because I'm always trying to compare everyoneto me. I know that if you'd sent me a letter a couple years ago saying you were going to die fighting the Dark Lord, I'd have shrugged it off as insignificant, maybe even good, news. But now I wouldn't, and I know you aren't, either. You can't be, not unless you've changed. A lot. Because despite your claims of bravery which I don't doubt for a second, you've always had a chamber in your heart, a chamber you have denied yourself access too, because you're afraid of it. A chamber with a barricaded door. A door with a padlock. A padlock whose key has long been lost. And that chamber is my place in your heart. Always denied, but never forgetten. Always loved, but never acknowledged. I like to think that's how you think of me. I think it is. It's the way I feel about you, brother._

_I've killed, you know. I've said that already, but I wanted to make sure you understood. I've killed people, and not only Muggles. When I joined the Dark Lord I thought he was cool; you've got to understand, Sirius, that I was still a kid. I thought he had the right ideas, that we pure-bloods should rule the world and if the only way we could achieve that was to use force, than why not? We were only pursuing what was rightfully ours...What I thought was rightfully ours. You were disgusted, remember? Yes, you do. I took the dark mark a year after you left home, Sirius. I think our parents didn't want to lose another son. In a way it was your fault...but I suppose I can't really blame you for managing to escape. Anyway, I became a Death Eater and had the Dark Mark branded into my skin. The Dark Lord acted like it was a great honour and at the time I thought it was; he was honouring our pure-blood family and our parents were near tears – especially Mum. At first it was alright, I would get and give lecture about pure-blood supremacy, but then I started witnessing attacks. And when I'd been a Death Eater for a few weeks, I committed my first murder. Oh, Sirius, it was awful. I won't get into the details, but she was innocent, she was so young, she hadn't done anything...And I killed her. You must be disgusted with me, and rightfully so. I'm disgusted with myself._

_But you'll be glad, maybe even proud, to hear that I've done everything I can to redeem myself. I don't believe for one second that I can be forgiven for my crimes or for the wrongful things I've done to you, my family, my brother, but maybe I can help alleviate the weight of those deeds by committing myself to a good cause. And that's what I've been doing for the past nine months. You'll probably laugh at me, but I'm no longer a follower of the Dark Lord. You don't believe me, do you? I'm not surprised. But I stopped being a Death Eater when the life of those I care about were put at stake. And now you're trying to laugh again, right? Don't kid yourself, Sirius: you know I'm capable of love. You'd like to think I'm not, but I am and you know it. You probably aren't expecting what I'm about to say next, though._

_He intended for Kreacher to die._

_You've paused for a second. You're thinking it's a joke. And now you're laughing out loud. _

_Don't._

_The Dark Lord thinks of house-elves as lesser beings – much like you, actually (no offense meant). I don't; you know I've always been close to good old Kreacher. He loves me. And I worshipped Voldemort. So I volunteered Kreacher's services when the Dark Lord asked for a house-elf who might serve him for a while. And he nearly killed him, but I called Kreacher and he came and he told me everything. I think I'd been waiting a long time for this without really realising it. I hadn't until then really given much thought to the Dark Lord's cruelty, because I couldn't do anything about it. But I had Kreacher now, and I had his knowledge and that was proof enough for me. So I disappeared. I defected from the Death Eaters seven months ago. You wouldn't know, since you left home ages ago, but I hid in our parents' house – Dad had the security raised with all kinds of spells. Tonight I will die. I will undoubtedly be dead by the time you read this, if you ever do read this, because even if everything does not go according to hand, I will be killed by the Dark Lord if he is able to find me. Tonight I seek to drive the Dark Lord closer to mortality. Tonight I do my final deed, and it will be a good one. Maybe, one day, you'll be proud of me. All I can say is that I, Regulus Arcturus Black, am so proud of having a brother like you. Even if we are no longer brothers, even if you've long since decided Potter was more worthy of your attention and friendship that I was, I still love you and will until my untimely death a few hours from now._

_Regulus_

Sirius woke up to a sharp rapping at his window. He yawned at used his wand to light up the room – it was still dark outside, who the hell could possibly want to talk to him at this hour?

"Prongs?" he asked sleepily, because lately James had been making it a habit to wake him up in this fashion. But James was snoring loudly next to him, and by the smell of beer and vodka emanating from him, he wouldn't be awake until noon at the very least.

He bolted upright and clenched his fingers tightly around his wand. There was nothing to fear, he told himself. Death Eaters didn't knock at the door, much less the window. Death Eaters barged in and killed everyone and broke everything.

So it wasn't Death Eaters. The question remained: what was it?

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood before taking a few hesitant steps toward the window. His head hurt like hell, an unpleasant reminder of the night before – James and him at a Muggle bar, testing out every type of Muggle vodka they could and, once they were home (at Sirius' – Lily would have killed James if he'd come home dead drunk), comparing them to wizarding samples. He was too hung-over to fight, anyway, so he figured he might as well go see what it was.

He opened the window and an pearly-grey owl with bright eyes flew in and proceeded to flap around the room noisily before perching herself on James' head. He was so fast asleep he didn't even stir and Sirius had to hold back a laugh. An owl. He'd been scared of a fucking owl! But, suddenly, he felt the urge to take a second look at the owl...And he nearly gasped out loud when he realised who it was.

"Pearl," he whispered disbelievingly.

It had been years since he'd last heard from his parents, months since he'd last thought of them, and he was doing fine without them, thank you very much. Orion had disowned him, Walburga had sent him a Howler, Regulus had personally blasted him off the family tree (1) and he'd almost forgotten them. Almost, but not quite. And he certainly didn't want to refresh his memories of them. The enveloppe Pearl was carrying wasn't red, and it didn't look bulky enough to be hiding a potentially lethal 'gift', but he was still wary. And he wanted nothing more to do with his family.

"Fuck them," he said aloud.

Pearl cocked her head and looked at him quizzically before taking flight and heading for him. She landed on his instinctively outstretched arm and he was reminded of the many times she'd done just done that when he was still a rebellious and gleeful child. But the strain of the war had taken its toll on him and he didn't smile at the owl as he had once done. Instead he scowled and, knowing Pearl wouldn't leave him alone until he had freed her of her burden, he untied the enveloppe. Pearl immediately took flight and disappeared into the darkness of the night, leaving a bewildered Sirius standing there in his pajamas. For about a second he was sorely tempted to read the letter. He almost did. He opened the enveloppe and unfolded the letter. His eyes sought the name he would surely find at the end of the letter. If it was his mother, he told himself, he might allow himself a moment of sentimentality and read it, because she had always loved him, in her own way.

_Regulus._

His eyes hardened and he pointed his wand at the letter, whispering the fatal word:

"_Incendio_!"

The piece of parchment burst into flames in his hands and he watched impassively as the fire licked his fingers, threatening to seriously burn him, and destroyed the letter, erased any trace of Regulus' heartfelt last words. Sirius refused to have anything to do with his Death Eater of a brother. Never, he had sworn to himself, and never it would be. Never would he forgive Regulus, never would he hold him in his arms again, never again would he talk to him. Never again would he be his puppet. Never again would he fall prey to his brother's imploring eyes so like his own. That bond had been severed when he ran away like the coward he was.

James stirred in his bed. The noise caused by the fluttering of Pearl's wings and the light created by the flickering flames had finally woken him. He sat up sleepily and looked at the crumbling bits of burnt paper in his best friend's hand. The fire had been extinguished by then, but it was still obvious what had happened.

"Padfoot!" he said, alarmed. "Careful! Didn't your mother ever teach you not to play with fire?"

"No," Sirius said curtly. "She didn't teach me anything much."

James bit his lip and inwardly cursed. He was stupid. Sirius usually didn't mind comments on his family but it was obvious by the expression on his face that he was tenser than usual. James was about to say something when he saw the tears running silently down his friend's cheeks. He changed sentences mid-way.

"Yes, I – Sirius? Why are you...I mean, what is that thing you're holding, anyway?"

Sirius looked down at what used to be a letter from his brother. He rolled the remains into a ball and tossed it into the wastepaper basket. Then, for good measure, he pointed his wand at it and muttered,

"_Evanesco_." He slipped his wand up his sleeve again and looked levelly at James. "Oh, it was nothing."

And it was.

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**(1) See _Gone_, my other Regulus/Sirius centric fanfiction.**


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